


A Cup of Tea Between Friends

by Kbug81



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22870396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kbug81/pseuds/Kbug81
Summary: Solas is surprised to hear knocking at his door at three in the morning. The following conversation makes him seriously question his path for the first time.
Relationships: Solas x Inquisitor friendship
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	A Cup of Tea Between Friends

**Author's Note:**

> The following one-shot scene is set after Blackwall leaves the party in the romance subplot. 
> 
> I feel like a lot of the fics exploring Solas’ inner thoughts focus on a romance play through (guilty as charged, personally) and I really wanted to explore his relationship with an Inquisitor who is just a friend, but no less an important factor in how torn he is in the DLC final scene.

At first he didn’t even hear the knock. It was so faint, it actually blended in with the strokes of his brush against the wall. Solas set aside his painting tray and made haste to the door, wondering who could possibly be making such timid taps on the other side. If his companions needed him at such a late hour surely it would be due to an emergency, but that didn’t match the knocking at the door. It was small, quiet, weak.

Solas wondered if it was an elf, an associate from his vast network. They knew never to contact him here. He reached for the handle and prepared to assume the persona of his powerful alter-ego. He was wholly unprepared for what he saw.

She stood there so diminutively. Between her dwarven size and Solas’ above-average elven height, the night’s shadows served to hide his confusion. He let the features of his face smooth out to the placid calm he usually carried around his companions, but his curiosity was definitely piqued.

“Solas,” she said in a voice laced with pleading. “May I come in?”

He took a step back into the rotunda and gestured with his hand.

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

As she walked inside from the dark hallway, Solas took in several surprising details.

Her burnt orange hair streaked behind her. Solas had never seen the Inquisitor without an elaborate up-do of braids, and here she was with unbrushed, tangled locks tumbling down to the small of her back. She wore nothing but woolen stockings and a burgundy robe over a plain tunic, far from the put together ensembles she usually appeared in. But the most surprising thing was her voice. The Inquisitor whom Solas had come to know and respect was an intelligent, witty woman with a confident, almost brash, voice.

“I couldn’t sleep, and I know you’re the only one awake at this hour outside of the night watch.”

She had curled up in the corner of the only couch, facing away from him. Again she used that soft, frail voice. Solas couldn’t make sense of it. He would have to investigate.

“Shall I make us some tea?”

That made her laugh. It wasn’t the hearty, joyful sound he could sometimes hear ringing over the courtyard from the tavern. It was a broken, heart-wrenching sound.

“You hate tea,” she reminded him.

Solas began the preparations, continuing to face away from this strange person he didn’t recognize like this. He got the feeling that he could spook her away if he wasn’t careful.

“You can drink it, and I’ll hold a pleasantly warm cup. How’s that?”

“That sounds lovely, thank you Solas.”

They co-existed in silence as the rotunda filled with the scent of jasmine. Solas could sense the negative energy behind him and racked his brain through a number of possibilities. However, as the tea steeped, he realized he was having trouble thinking of what could have upset her so. His Inquisitor: the person who had stepped so messily into his plans; the dwarf who impressed him enough to convince him to stay; the leader whom he trusted to stop Corypheus; the companion who was there for him in one of his darkest hours in a long time. 

He still wished she had let him kill the imbeciles responsible for the death of his friend, but he understood her staying hand. He had thought he understood all of her, and yet as he poured the pale liquid into two porcelain cups, Solas realized he knew very little about her personal life. The jokes, the laughter, the resolve, and the compassion she exhibited as Inquisitor was so wholly genuine that Solas had never thought to look past it to the person. 

Of course Solas had done his own background check on her through his network of spies. He knew about her connection to the Carta, how she used to roam the wilds as a courier to make it harder for any interested parties to follow. He knew she had no strong ties to her family. He knew her full name. But these were facts, and as he sat down beside her and handed her a cup and saucer, Solas realized he had never seen her upset before. Angry at injustice, yes. But the sadness in her broken posture as she took the cup from him was like nothing he had ever seen before. He wondered how much the Inquisitor shouldered on her own.

They continued on in silence as she sipped her tea. Solas painfully observed she had been crying. The evidence of her tears still glistened on her cheeks, and it moved his spirit beyond words—it stirred a deep desire to reach out and comfort his friend.

His friend? When had that happened? When he talked of spirits and the Fade, and she had listened with an open mind? When he observed her patience with Cole, how she helped him when he had questions? When he watched her deftly navigate the many strong personalities that made this Inquisition so successful? Suddenly, Solas felt a twinge of guilt. It felt as if he had been enjoying all of the benefits of friendship without giving anything in return. He didn’t understand the feeling at all. True, had come to care for the humans and people here far more than he had expected, but there was always a line. Becoming friends with the Inquisitor, with the very person in possession of his anchor, definitely crossed it.

But instead he found himself asking in a gentle voice,

“Do you wish to talk about it?”

As she looked him in the eyes for the first time since he had answered the door, Solas knew it was a lost cause. The heartbreak in her eyes seared him to the core. He felt himself getting angry at what or who had caused such pain to the person he admired so much. It was all he could do to keep the emotion from bubbling up to his face and betraying him.

Her eyes fell again and Solas felt a reprieve. The burn was replaced with an ache, a soreness of spirit. He didn’t know he was capable of this level of empathy.

“You’re a private person, Solas,” she was saying (if only she knew just how true that was). “It may come as a surprise, but I’m actually pretty private, too. It’s not that I’m any less me around people, it’s just that I like to keep certain things to myself.”

She took a slow sip of tea.

“I used to spend days, even weeks at a time without seeing a soul. Nothing but me, and the earth, and the sky. After a childhood underground, it was all I could ever ask for. Maybe I would get lonely now and again, and I’d spend a few days in some tavern with a rowdy crew like the Chargers, drinking and singing. But I always had that time to myself, too. I guess after a few years, the silence became a habit, even if I was with friends. Something I kept with me.”

Another sip.

“The Conclave was just another job. I was used to being sent on spy missions now and again. Obviously I never expected…”

Her eyes roamed across the walls, resting on each of Solas’ depictions of all of the events that had occurred thus far.

“So much happened so quickly. I was so wrapped up in doing what I felt was right, it never occurred to me to leave. It still never has! I’m not a hero, and I’m certainly not a savior. I’m just...me. That’s all I ever try to be. That’s all I ever am.”

Her cup was empty. Solas poured more from the teapot without a word so as to not interrupt. This peek behind the curtain of the Inquisitor’s thoughts was touching him deeply.

She nodded her thanks and blew slowly over the steaming surface.

“Always another battle, always another recruit. It took a while, with how busy it was in the beginning, but eventually...I started to miss the silence. I felt...GUILTY. They put me up on this pedestal, gave me a sword and a title, made me a leader. And I’ve been doing the best I can to live up to it, the best I can to give it my all—but I had to have something of my own. I couldn’t just hand over my entire soul. I needed something in place of the old silence.”

Tears crept from the creases of her eyes.

“The way he looked at me wasn’t as an Inquisitor. It was as a woman. The way he held me...made me feel safe. For the first time in my life, I was able to be my whole self with another person. He became my silence.”

Solas felt his stomach sink when he realized who she was talking about.

“And now he’s gone.”

Her breath shook as she blew on the tea and took another long sip. Then she jerked her head up, eyes wide with surprise, as she felt the touch of Solas’ hand on her arm.

“Inquisitor...I am sorry.”

The gesture surprised him as much as it had surprised her. His hand had moved without being told, and the apology came from his lips with a sincerity he found troubling. If she paid too close attention to his tone, she might be able to get a sense of his true intentions.

But further to his surprise, the Inquisitor smiled. It was a warm smile, in spite of the heartbreak still in her eyes. She sniffed her runny nose as on final tear fell, and placed a soft hand over his own.

“Thank you, Solas. You’re a good friend.”

How wretched a being was he: Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, Lord of Tricksters, He Who Walks Alone. Here was a dwarf who had proved a good person; a compassionate, righteous, kind person with a heart of resolve that could save the world. That would save the world—the same world he planned to turn inside out in only a matter of time. Here was Dwema of House Cadash, the Inquisitor, his friend. How could he have let this happen? How could he not?

“I’ve never seen you with your hair down,” Solas said as war raged within his soul.

Dwema laughed. Not the broken sound from before, but a true laugh with a ring of levity. It was an entrancing sound that had won many hearts to the cause.

“Solas,” she said with eyes full of mischief, “I have an idea.”

****

The court generally roused at half past eight. By nine, the nobles and various allies would be gathered in the halls of Skyhold. Dwema held a daily breakfast in the main hall, a tradition that started when Skyhold was under serious repair and many of the dining rooms had yet to be cleared. Now she used it as a chance to touch base with many of the people who personally funded the Inquisition. Banquet tables were covered in platters of sausage rolls, fresh fruit, pastries, and ice cold pitchers of juice and milk. Servants used a contraption called a percolator to keep the coffee hot for hours. It was a simple enough set-up, but it made the stuffy nobles feel pampered and specially looked after. Many a visitor woke up drooling at the promise of the pastry chef’s famous cinnamon rolls.

In order to let everyone gather and have time to actually eat, Dwema usually came downstairs at ten. But today it was half-past ten and there was still no sign of her. Solas saw concern start to creep on the faces of many guests. He hid the smile creeping to his own face with a cheese-filled danish.

There was a small commotion at the front of the hall. Curious, since the Inquisitor’s chambers led down to the opposite side, near the throne.

Cole soon came into view. With him were all of the allies the Inquisitor had gathered over the last few months, each with a look of confusion unique to their personalities. Varric, who had a brotherly soft spot for Cole, looked placid but intrigued. Sera’s face was scrunched up in an uncomfortable scowl. Dorian looked perplexed but in good humor, like he was waiting for the punchline. The Iron Bull held a similar face, but not without discomfort at being in a hall crowded with fancy stiffs as he would put it. Cullen was sputtering protests. Cassandra was about to lose her patience—possibly her temper. Vivianne and Josephine, who both attended the daily breakfast to mingle with the guests, strode over with hissing whispers about decorum and propriety. Leliana watched it all with a face as smooth as stone. She was the first to notice that Solas was unperturbed, and cocked a cold eyebrow in his direction.

“What’s this all about, Cole?” She asked without taking her eyes off of Solas.

As usual when the spymaster turned her gaze on him, Solas felt the urge to throw up protective barriers. But this time it wasn’t his secret to hide.

“She wanted you all to be here,” the half-spirit, half-boy replied.

Before anyone could question him further, a ripple of shocked voices emanated from the throne room. Solas felt a strange swell of pride at his handiwork when the Inquisitor came into view. No, it wasn’t just pride at his skill—he had felt that before when looking at his paintings—it was pride in the person. Coppery hair shone like a crown around her freckled face, and her eyes were bright with merriment.

“Your hair!” Vivianne wailed in agony. The Iron Bull, Dorian, and Sera all whooped and hollered; Varric grinned broadly.

“Nice haircut,” he said with a wink.

Cassandra seemed even more confused than before. “This is what all the fuss was about? It interrupted my morning training.”

Cullen put a hand on the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly. Solas thought he noticed a breath catch in the man’s throat at the sight of the beaming Inquisitor and her new shaved down pixie cut. Poor Commander, Solas thought with a chuckle to himself. Maybe he had a shot at the rebound.

“Thank you for rallying the troops,” Dwema said to Cole.

“I like your hair,” the boy replied in his deep, whispery voice, like a breeze echoing over a well.

Dwema laughed.

“You already saw it this morning!”

“I know,” Cole said simply, “but I wanted to say it here.”

Josephine, who had been quiet for most of this time, walked up to the Inquisitor and took one of her hands in both of hers.

“I think it is most becoming,” she said with warmth and meaning. As usual, her sharp intuition and skills of observation had put two and two together. The women shared a sad look for a moment. Then Dwema smiled.

“Thanks, Josephine.”

She spread her arms out wide as she turned towards Solas.

“And a round of applause for the artist himself, hairdresser extraordinaire, Solas!”

She gave a silly, dramatic bow.

The companions peppered him with questions: how do you know how to cut hair when you don’t have any? (Sera). Would you be interested in styling the hair of a few nobles to match the Inquisitor? (Josephine).Why did the Inquisitor go to you for hair advice when he wasn’t even the most fabulous member of the inquisition? (Dorian). How dare he? (Vivianne).

“Leave him alone,” Dwema giggled. “I figured anyone who could wield a paint brush could wield a pair of scissors. Not to mention if he couldn’t, at least he had healing magic!”

That made everyone laugh. Soon the court was swooning over the Inquisitor’s sharp new look. As Josephine had predicted, many started making their way towards Solas with their requests written all over their faces. He excused himself hurriedly and escaped to the balustrade outside of his rooms.

The harsh landscape that surrounded Skyhold stretched to his left, and the noises of the Inquisition headquarters rose from the right. Behind him, he could still hear echoes of his companions’ laughter.

He felt torn down through the middle—never once did he think he might be tempted to stray from his purpose. But Solas believed in the Inquisitor. He believed in his friend.

He had a lot to think about.


End file.
